


Phrenitis

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack’s long desired return with Stephen to Catalunya is more eventful than either had supposed. This episode occurs post-canon in 1820.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phrenitis

19 May 1820

“Sweetheart,” Jack said quietly, pouring himself and Sophie a cup of coffee in the breakfast room at Woolcombe as Sophie opened the post, “Stephen is so very low. He told me today that Mrs.Wood said she shall not marry him.” Stephen had come to Woolcombe the day before and was out wandering the commons, looking at birds and Jack was taking this opportunity to speak with Sophie about his affairs, knowing Stephen should not be back for at least a couple of hours.

 “Oh, no.” Sophie said, stricken. “I thought she was so well with him and with us. They are always so companionable together.” Sophie looked to make certain Brigid was not in earshot. She was not. Sophie rose and looked to see if Killick were lurking; he appeared not to be. She closed the doors.

 “Well, of course he said he does not wish that I think ill of her in any way, that it was a misunderstanding on his part, that she is very involved with her brother, Edward Heatherleigh, is writing a book with him about birds in Scotland and is busy with her own naturalising, perfectly happy with things the way they are, not desirous of a break, but he took it rather hard. He had thought they would marry now, next week. I do so pray he shall not pine after her for years and years, as he did with Diana.” Jack said and then regretted saying the last, thinking it too much of an indiscretion, even if it were perfectly obvious, even if it were with Sophie, who had seen the whole thing as well as he himself had. It pained Jack to ever say anything that could be construed as a criticism of Stephen, he loved him so dearly. Sophie could see it in his face and took his hand.

“Is there anything we might do?”

“I thought of going with him to Barcelona, to Catalunya, if you are agreeable. It would get his mind off of things and I am afraid he already bought the passage for two. He thought she would go with him and that is what brought all of this to a head.”

“Oh, dear.” Sophie said, instantly imagining the whole scenario, Stephen going to Barcelona alone on his aborted would-be honeymoon. “Would you go with him, Jack? Please do. I am fine here with Brigid and Killick and Cissy shall be here in less than a week. It should do the both of you such good. You have been ashore for such a long time. I cannot help but worry for him, Jack.” She said, her great grey eyes welling with tears, for she too loved Stephen so very much.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jack said and he embraced and kissed her. "We shall be leaving for Barcelona in a week’s time. That is the only reason old Stephen ever told me about Mrs. Wood. He is always such a deep old file.”  
  
  


 

Eight weeks later, in mid-July, 1820, Stephen Maturin sat in his breeches and shirt sleeves in the very warm and dimly lit largest bedchamber of his property in Catalunya, which could in all candour properly be called a castle, albeit a mostly ruined castle, but which he chose to call “a sheepwalk.” Stephen’s castle was a former monastery built in the thirteenth century. It had fallen to his mother’s family as she was the last descendent with a living child of a nobleman far back in the history of Catalunya, the Count of Rosselló, and it had become Dr.Maturin’s upon her death before his sixth birthday. His godfather had administered it until Stephen had turned twenty-one and had then insisted that it be properly titled to him as the equivalent of lord of the manor, despite Stephen's bastardy. The walls were stone and so thick that sound was deadened to the extent that nothing could be heard outside of a room, even with a door open.   
  
Stephen had planned to come and spend part of his honeymoon with Christine Wood there; he had written ahead, asking that this bedchamber be prepared in particular, anticipating months they would spend naturalising in the surrounding mountains and what their plans together would be for his sheepwalk. Instead, he had been virtually shackled in the room, caring for Jack who in Barcelona had apparently contracted phrenitis, commonly known as “brain fever.” This room was part of the best kept-up area of the castle, having a very large, unbroken functional bed with a feather tick, pristine linens, intact windows that could be opened and closed (glass had been a very late addition), a large wardrobe, multiple lamps, a table and chairs and a very large looking glass. The early evening sun was starting its long good-bye in the western horizon past the mountains and a lamp had already been lit. Stephen sat on the other side of the bed, glancing at Jack sleeping as he read a book he had bought in Barcelona on the history of Catalunya. They had left Barcelona with an entire trunk full of books in Catalan and now Stephen was making good use of them.

Jack was asleep in a nightshirt in the bed, sweating profusely in the heat. His fever finally appeared to be breaking. Stephen had been extremely worried for him. Dr. Maturin had brought only a few elements of physic with him and they had not been particularly helpful in his treatment of Jack. He had not the appropriate purgatives and had let Jack's blood only twice, not having the strength or the assistance to subdue him to bleed him daily. He was heartened that Jack had at least suffered no convulsions. He had attended to Jack personally every second since he had become ill, partially out of devotion to his old friend and partly because of the lack of anyone else to attend him. Stephen had not been able to leave the premises of his sheepwalk since they had arrived and Jack’s fever burned so brightly that he had been raving in his delirium. He had sent Josefina, his retainer, and her daughter, Carlotta, to run a very few of the errands that he had planned on doing whilst there, but he had been able to do very little else, so worried was he for Jack.

Jack had been sick now for sixteen days, extremely so for the past twelve; indeed, completely out of his head with fever. Josefina was the only full time servant and she was old and weak, much older than Stephen was, for he had known her as a young woman when he was a very little boy. He brought the spirit stove into the bedchamber, heated the soup Josefina made and fed Jack, mixed and administered his physic, brought the basin and water and sponge bathed Jack in the bed, got him to use the chamber pot, and sat worrying and praying for him. Day after day and finally now on the twelfth night, the fever was breaking and Stephen was now shocked to hear Jack's completely rational voice saying, "My God, Stephen, you look absolutely dreadful."

Stephen was now half-sitting, half-reclining on the bed next to Jack, his book open on his chest as he had dozed off.He opened his eyes and saw Jack peering at him in the lamp light. He leant forward and kissed Jack's forehead and found it cool and damp.

 " _Gràcies a Déu_." Stephen said quietly. "God and Mary be with you, Jack, how come you to be?"

"Where are we?" Jack said, looking around the semi-darkened room. Stephen helped him to sit up and palpated his neck and throat and indicated for him to touch his chin to his chest, each shoulder and to look up. Jack did so without discomfort.

"At my place, my sheepwalk. Your dream has come true, my dear, but I regret to say you have had phrenitis, that is brain fever, for near three weeks. It seems Catalunya does not agree with you. You have been extremely ill."

"Last I remember, we was in Barcelona."

"That was more than a fortnight ago, almost twenty days ago, my poor Jack. Today is the fourteenth of July, indeed, Bastille Day. It is Friday."

"How did we get here?"

"We were en route in a chaise when you were taken ill. Had I known this should happen, I would have had us stay in Barcelona."

"When did you last shave?"

"I cannot say." Stephen said, feeling the thick beard all over his face. Jack rubbed his own face.

"Yet I have been shaved in the last two days."

"I had to shave you every other day. Forsooth, you were extremely agitated about not being shaved." Stephen said. “You told me you could not possibly fight a man of war with a beard bristling out of your chin. Why, I cannot say.”

“Stephen, might I have something to drink? I am so hellfire thirsty.” Stephen poured water from a stone jug, in which the water was cooled via evaporation and held it to Jack's lips. Jack drank it quickly.

“Do you remember anything? Any dreams? Leaving Barcelona?”

“Truth be told, no.” He looked around the room. “I do not remember your place that well but it seems it has not changed that much in all these years.”

“Indeed. Decrepit would be putting it kindly.”

“How long has it been? It was back in the year three, was it not? So that is seventeen years ago, now. The bed is very comfortable."

“I am glad to hear you think so. We do have very good beds in Catalunya. I have arranged for workmen to come and start work downstairs and the roofer to come. Josefina and her daughter, Carlotta are the only ones who have been here continuously in the last six years. I did stop here with Diana when we came to get Brigid, Clarissa Oakes and Padeen.” Stephen said wistfully.

“Stephen, I am so very sorry that I have spoilt our pleasure trip.” Jack said quickly.

“Do not be absurd. It grieves me extremely that you have been through this ordeal, brother. Shall you stand then? Can you stand?” Jack got out of the bed and stood and Stephen eyed him critically.

“You have lost a stone and a half at least, perhaps more.” Stephen said, frowning.

“Should you say that was fortunate or not?” Jack asked his bright blue eyes twinkling. "Am I no longer obese?"

“It was extremely difficult to get you to eat and your fever was very high, joy. Sit now, Jack, do sit again, for all love." Jack sat on the edge of the bed. "I must go tell Josefina to give me the supper and to ready the water that you might bathe." Stephen rose and left the room. Jack sat looking around. He felt as though he had been asleep overnight yet had wakened unrested. He had never seen Stephen looking so exhausted and actually old. Stephen came back bearing a tray.

"Josefina is so good. She sent this stew for you and this fresh loaf of bread, _pa de pagès_ with olive oil, so glad is she that her prayers for your recovery were answered. You must try just a bit, Jack, see how it suits." He raised the spoon to feed Jack.

"I can feed myself." Jack said, reaching for the spoon. “You need not cosset me to such a degree, soul.”

"Can you? I suppose you may. But you have been through an ordeal, a terrible ordeal."

"Luckily, I remember none of it." Jack said, taking the spoon from him and eating. "This is very savoury. What is it? I am absolutely clemmed."

"Boar stew." Stephen said. It smelled wonderfully of garlic, onions, chanterelles, tomatoes, wild boar and wine and brought back happy memories to Stephen of his godfather.

"Are you not hungry, Stephen?" Jack said, stopping eating and looking at him.

"So I am. But I shall eat after you." He watched Jack eat the stew and bread ravenously and gave him a glass of Tarragona, a very strong Catalan wine, mixed with cold water. Convinced Jack could actually feed himself, Stephen rose, took his own bowl and ate slowly. He was surprised and pleased to see how well Jack ate, indeed, how quickly he seemed to be rebounding. His very strong constitution had triumphed yet again.

Jack's fever had been frighteningly high and sustained for a very long time for a man of his age. He had evinced no other symptom, aside from the initial headache, sleepiness and stiff neck. To hear him speaking entirely sensibly and seeing him eat ravenously lightened Stephen's heart, after almost two weeks of listening to Jack reliving his past in apparently vivid hallucinations. Worst of all had been dealing with Jack demanding, "Where is he? Tell him to answer me, God rot his bloody soul. Where is Stephen? Tell him that if he does not answer, I shall kill him." No assurances to Jack that he was, in fact, Stephen made any difference and Jack had wept with rage and grief saying over and over, "I shall kill him; oh Stephen, my dear, dear Stephen..." as he broke down sobbing, much to Stephen’s heartache.

“Well, you have not had much time to complete your errands that was the reason you came.” Jack said.

“There shall be plenty of time.” Stephen said, putting his books on the table. “We are here until mid-August and I shall have all the arrangements made by then, with the blessing.” Stephen said with a barely audible sigh.

“What arrangements need be made?”

“Oh, the sheep.” Stephen said, distractedly, looking over his books.

“What about them?”

“Which ones we shall be bringing back with us, of course.”

“You came all the way here to retrieve some sheep?”

“They are not just any sheep, Jack. They are rare Catalan _Xisqueta_ that I promised to Sir Joseph Banks to supply to the flock of His Royal Highness for the Crown to start a breeding programme, to cross them with Merinos. I have the only pure black ones left in Catalunya, very likely in the world, I believe. I have promised him seven _Xisqueta_ , five ewes and two rams. Though now I think of bringing a sixth ewe. But to answer your question, no, I did not come solely to retrieve the sheep. I have to make some dispositions here with my sheepwalk and arrange for new caretakers and retiring Josefina and Carlotta.”

“I had no idea of it. How many sheep have you, Stephen?”

“Not so many now. No more than four hundred.”

“Four hundred?” Jack said, taken aback.

“Yes. Not all of them are here, however. Some are at my godfather’s place.” He opened a book.”I had thought of dividing my time now between here, Barcelona, Ireland, Paris, London and Woolcombe, of course, but it looks like that shall not be happening.” Stephen said. “I had hoped to get here every year. Now I do not know.” Jack could see sadness and doubt in his face. "I had thought to definitively decide what to do with this place. Either I must sink an immense amount of money into it or let it become a complete ruin and neither solution pleases me. I had wished to have some insight from a disinterested observer."

"Who is the lady in that painting?" Jack said, looking at a large portrait of a beautiful raven-haired maiden with large blue eyes, not as light as Stephen's but nearly identical in cast.

"That is my mother. That is the only image I still have of her. This was her bedchamber. Indeed, this was her very bed that we have slept in. Josefina was her servant. She was here from before I was born and she has been here ever since." He drank his glass of Tarragona. "I perhaps have my finger in too many pies. I had not thought it before. Perhaps Paris and London are enough." Stephen said, stroking his beard, pensively. "I am to present a paper at _L'Institut_ in the end of September."

"God's my life, Stephen, you are infernally busy."

"Am I? I suppose I am. Yet it does not seem so, not compared to ten years ago. What are you gaping at so, Jack?" Stephen said, crossly. "It is most unbecoming."

"I beg your pardon," Jack said, chagrined."It is just that I have never seen you with such a luxuriant beard. It quite astonishes me." He recalled that Stephen had grown a beard as well when they had walked from Toulon and the memory of it and seeing him now with a beard had an oddly arousing effect on him.

"My face is only more hirsute in my old age as my hair thins. Tis an annoyance, for I could shave twice a day and still have stubble at cock crow." Stephen came to get the bowl and glass and Jack reached and caressed the side of his face. "Jack Aubrey, have you never had a beard?" Stephen said somewhat sharply.

"Not like that one. It is a most handsome beard, Stephen, and I do not say that lightly." Jack said, his voice growing hoarse.

Stephen took the things away and came back and sat down next to him.

"So we are here as you have so often expressed the desire to be, lo these many years." Stephen said. Jack leaned towards him and stroked Stephen's beard and embraced him around the neck, kissing him."Are you quite up to this, joy?" Stephen said, frowning.

"I am more than up to it, Stephen," He said, taking Stephen's hand in his."I have been awaiting this day for the last fifteen years."

"Why, Jack? Why are you so keen on this idea, of us being here, together?"

"I do not know. I have thought of it so many times, of us being here again and alone. And here we are and the bed is comfortable." He kissed Stephen, closing his eyes as he did so.

"You wished that we had made love here? I recall you mentioning it several times.”

"Yes." Jack said, patting the bed. "I believe I have dreamt it many a time. I remember dreaming it in the Temple, perhaps because the walls there were so thick and medieval and it reminded me of this place. Or perhaps I just wished that poor Jagiello was not with there with us, ingrate that I was. Do you need to lock the door, Stephen?"

"No. Josefina will not come up the stairs unless I go and fetch her. Her rheumatism is quite severe in her knees. The walls are so thick that one hears absolutely nothing outside the room." Jack studied his face in the dim light.

"Stephen, I have so much desire for you but it looks as though you have not slept the entire time I have been ill."

"Not no sleep, but not so very much, soul."

"Shall I desist tonight? I am only so eager to have this first experience here."

"It shall not be the first, exactly." Stephen said. Jack raised an eyebrow. "You were most insistent and delirious." Jack coloured.

"Oh, dear Stephen, I beg your pardon." Jack said, mortified.

"Fie, do not be foolish, Jack. How should I not attend to you if you so needed it? I did so in lieu of bleeding you daily. No, my dear. I am only greatly relieved that you are now in your right mind and now you may have your dearest wish realised. I only hope that the act shall be worthy of fifteen years of anticipation." He stroked Jack's hair fondly. "The night is so warm and so you shall have a bath."

"A bath? Now? How can such a thing be?" Jack said. He knew Stephen was no great believer in bathing after fever.

"Carlotta has fetched Pau to carry the water and heated it earlier this afternoon and now it awaits you, Jack. You must bathe and wash off all the salts you have perspired out. I have sponged you repeatedly, but it was nothing compared to degree with which you have sweat. It is so warm tonight that you shall be in no danger whatever from a chill or the falling damps. For that the water has been heating all afternoon.The air is warm and dry the wind is out of the southwest and you shall dry very quickly when you emerge from your bath. Can you stand?" Jack stood and Stephen took his arm and led him down to the giant marble bath, undressed him, took his hands to steady him as he descended into the bath and brought forward a Mediterranean sea sponge and a stirrup jar containing liquid lavender soap. "This is Catalan lavender soap, an excellent soporific, my dear." Stephen said, lathering the sponge, washing Jack's neck and examining him closely as he did so, checking the condition of his old wounds.

"Is that what your whole castle smells so strongly of? Lavender? I noticed it the moment I awoke. I think I smelled it in my delirium, even dreamt I was sleeping in a field of flowers."

 "It grows like a weed, tis _Lavandula stoechas pedunculata_ , much hardier than the French lavender of Provence. The air is hot and dry now, so it is drying where it grows and reseeding, for it has bolted. Josefina has filled the entire kitchen with it, too, for her soap-making. You shall have your bath and then some more soup and wine and then bed. Is the water comfortable?"

"Quite." Jack said. It was perfect in the hot, dry night air. He looked at Stephen wistfully in the dim light, wishing he would shed his clothes and join him in the bath.

"I should never have you bathe so in England, in the evening, it is so cold. Not in the evening after brain fever and the crisis you experienced."

"Stephen, was I ever in this bath before?" Jack said, touching the smooth sides of it.

"Certainly. We were here for more than twelve weeks, long ago. You do not remember?"

"No." Jack reached for the soapy sponge and Stephen pulled it away.

“Pray do not put any soap on your genitals. Never any soap on your genitals, my dear, only water."

"So you have told me a dozen times over the years, old Stephen." Jack said, smiling. Stephen gave him the sponge and he washed his face.

"It cannot be said enough, with the harm you would do yourself with your slavish devotion to Abrahamic rites of cleanliness. I can scarce believe that we are now well into middle age, if not actually on the brink of being old and my passion for you has not diminished one whit.” Stephen said. “Perhaps my virile principle is not what it was, but my attachment for you only grows stronger over time. I remember how shocked you were when I told you a man in his sixties may still seek out and perform the act quite energetically."

"When was that?"

"You were about twenty-seven, I believe. You were asking me about Lord Keith."

"My God, we was young." Jack said, laughing.

"So we were." Stephen said, pouring soap on the sponge and lathering it and then washing Jack’s shoulders and back. "Lie back back and wet your hair." Jack did so and Stephen poured some of the liquid lavender soap in his hair. He leaned forward and kissed Jack's forehead again and soaped his hair. "Now rinse, my dear." Jack did so. "Are you ready to come out?" Stephen said, picking up a large sheet of towelling.

"Shall you not come in then?" Jack said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Certainly not." Stephen said. "Not now, joy. Later I shall bathe with you if you so wish. Tomorrow." He helped Jack out of the bath, gave him four towels and started drying him and Jack bent down to kiss him. "Jack, you must dress and return to bed. Here is a clean nightshirt." Jack dressed and Stephen took him up to bed and then went to tell Carlotta to have Pau come to empty the bath. He came back and Jack pulled him into the bed, kissing him.

"Do undress, Stephen."

"First you must have some more soup and some of this would-be negus."

"Stephen, might we not have food later?" Jack said, stroking his hair.

"Your animal passions are still inflamed despite you being bled." Stephen said, studying him. "Perhaps this passionate vitiation of your blood made the brain fever more severe. I think carnal exercise salubrious. It certainly was far easier to get you to comply than twas to bleed you."

"How did you manage to bleed me at all, by yourself?" Jack asked, curious. He had never seen Stephen bleed anyone without at least one assistant and had seen first hand the curiously extreme strength of resistance a delirious man could present.

"Carlotta came up to hold the basin. I gave you some laudanum to subdue you, your agitation was so great."

"Do kiss me, Stephen, if you please." Jack said, his voice deep. Stephen gathered him in his arms and kissed him. He was surprised at how cool Jack's mouth and body were. He pulled the crisp, cool cotton sheet around him.

"I shall disrobe, joy." Stephen said. He sat up and took his clothes off and moved under the sheet with Jack and stroked his face. "Why were you so desirous of making love here, Jack? So much that you have thought of it for fifteen years and mentioned it so many times?" It seemed so very strange to Jack that they could converse thus in a normal tone of voice without their habitual whispering. He did not know Josefina was quite deaf and in any case spoke no English. No one spoke English and they were free to say whatever they wished in Stephen’s house.

"This is the first place we were ever truly alone. Walking here from Toulon, as well, though I don't much fancy the idea of making love on the ground on pine cones and needles and branches and I have no fond memories of that goddamned bear suit and so many people unexpectedly about. You brought me here and took care of me. I was so sick but I remember the tremendous relief when we arrived here because I was with you, Stephen and we were finally safe. Ever since, I have always known as long as I was with you that I should be fine in the end. That has been true for the last twenty years. Now it don't matter so very much, but even now, it is true, and I regret that you have been through such an ordeal yet again on my account. I never worry for myself at all as long as I am with you. And I hope I have been as good to you, old Stephen, as you have been to me.” Jack said, and he took Stephen’s hand and kissed it. “Over the years, I have relived our agonizing walk here and how you nursed me here in this bed. I thought of it so many times those nights I was with you, after Mahón, when I was so concerned for you. I would lie awake in Gibraltar and in Portsmouth in the middle of the night, holding you and know that everything would be all right because we were together, as long as we were together. And somehow, that fills me now with the most tender desire for you." Jack said and leaned forward and kissed him, stroking his face, running his fingers through Stephen's nearly black beard. "We were not lovers then; we were not to become lovers for another two years, but I think I started to fall in love with you when we arrived here. I did not realise it for years."

"And why would everything be all right?"

"Because as long as we are together, everything is always all right in the end. Thus it has always been and it seems that thus it always shall be. The fates have seemed to always smile upon us as long as we are together." This answer affected Stephen very deeply, given that Blessed Mother had told him the same thing in Mahón and he had believed it with all his heart and soul. He looked into Jack’s eyes, stroking his damp hair. Jack kissed him tenderly. Stephen felt Jack reaching between his legs, stroking him and he reached to feel Jack's prick, his glans already wet and very hard. Stephen was lightheaded and he closed his eyes as Jack kissed him. They lay there in each other’s arms as the sky darkened to the blue-black colour of squid ink, illuminated by thousands of stars across the Milky Way in the hot, cloudless night air. They could see the sky from where they lay.

Stephen pulled away and sat up, reaching and gave Jack a small corked glass tube of sweet oil, olive oil pressed from his own olive trees. Jack moved between his legs, spreading them, kissed his scrotum and perineum and Stephen sighed and moaned as Jack kissed down his body, softly stroking his anus. Jack opened the tube, anointed Stephen and himself as he gently pulled the very end of Stephen’s foreskin with his lips.

"Oh, Jack," Stephen sighed, "Oh, joy; dear, dear joy. Please, Jack, my love, if you please..."

Jack looked tenderly into his face as he slowly penetrated him, listening to Stephen's gasps and kissed his neck as they moved in together in a complex harmony. Stephen gasped, sighed and moaned more loudly than Jack had ever heard him since they were stranded on a tiny island in the Pacific with not another human soul for a radius of hundreds of miles. Stephen’s lack of inhibition gratified him extremely. Stephen was preternaturally capable of complete silence during coition, a necessity on a King’s ship but somehow deeply unsatisfying to Jack, who took immense gratification in pleasing his particular friend and had spent the last fifteen years learning how to better do so.

Jack stroked the prepuce of Stephen’s prick, slowed, stopped, restarted as he slowly thrust, listening to Stephen's breaths, feeling the quickening percussion of his heart and pulse, gazing and reading every movement in his face, the patterns of tension and relaxation, Stephen's grimaces and his frown of concentration and how it coupled with the tension in his groin, the tightening below and around Jack.   
  
Jack was intent on his own movements, the sublime sensation between them, his glans kissing against Stephen's prostate, gently stroking him over and over and was gratified to feel Stephen's response as he shifted his hips to increase and prolong the sensations, sighing and moaning with pleasure, whispering, "Do not stop; pray do not, Jack, my dear." Stephen's breathing became faster until he was panting and he and Jack played the duet between them on and on until Stephen's breath caught hard and he stiffened momentarily and his entire body quaked in spasms as he spent against Jack's belly and he gasped sharply. Jack kissed his neck as he himself spent, stiffening and feeling Stephen trembling and shivering beneath him, pulling Jack as tightly against him as he possibly could. Now it was Jack pulling the blankets around them and holding Stephen, who shivered spasmodically and could not speak.

"Oh, dear," Jack thought. "I pray he don't have brain fever."

Stephen lay in Jack’s arms, tears running from the corners of his eyes down the side of his face. Jack stroked his thin hair, kissing him, saying nothing, his bright blue eyes filled with extreme tenderness and the very deepest affection.

"Forgive me, Jack." Stephen said finally, wiping his face against the pillow. "I do beg your pardon."

"How do you suppose that you should ever have occasion to apologise for shedding tears in front of me, soul?" Jack said, stroking his brow. "I have wept a veritable sea of tears before you over the last twenty years."

"It was a happy moment, a very happy moment. It grieves me if you should take it that I feel otherwise."

"You have made me weep for joy on more than one occasion, brother." Jack said. "Nothing should make me more happy than to know that I have now returned the favour." Jack said, stroking his beard. "I feel quite the great man; you have never done me such an honour. I fear that now I shall be as proud as Pontius Pilate."

"You should be. I had no idea that I could experience such sensations.” Stephen said, considering the sound-deadening properties of the immense walls, his own very startling ability to be completely without inhibition, something he had never experienced so fully in his life.

They lay naked together, Jack's arm and leg over Stephen, the sheets pulled over them.

"You should have more soup." Stephen said, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

"Shhh, old Stephen, I just want to lie here." Jack said, drowsily."My God, how I love to lie with my arms about you and the breeze blowing like this through the room. I thought we should never have such complete privacy." Jack said sleepily, kissing Stephen's collar bone. "Dear God, this is heaven, to be here like this with you in this bed. It ain't sailing in the dear _Surprise_ , but the Great Cabin ain't in it for the comfort of this bed and the solitude of being here." Stephen's eyelids grew heavy. "Brother?"

"Mmm?" Stephen said, as even his lips were barely capable of meaningful speech.

"Pray do not shave your beard tomorrow." Jack said, embracing him more tightly and burying his face in Stephen’s hair.

"Do not fret, joy, I shan't." Stephen said, and he fell almost instantly into a deep sleep in the arms of his own fifteen and a half stone Morpheus.


End file.
